


Ticks and Tocks of Broken Clocks

by Hasty85



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Beth is sorta evil, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Manipulation, Family Fluff, Gen, I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good, Implied off-screen abuse, Infidelity, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hasty85/pseuds/Hasty85
Summary: A series of oneshots taking place before the series. First up: Make your own holiday, starring teenage Beth and kid Annie.





	1. Homemade Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Good Girls is not mine. I'm not really sure how old Annie is in this- anywhere from six to twelve. Beth is sixteen/seventeenish. The Bride Wore Black is a French movie that inspired the Kill Bill movies, starring Catherine Deneuve. Judging from the book it was based on, definitely not kid friendly.  
> And there actually was a working cinema in the Paris catacombs.

Beth has planned this out for weeks. A half-hour to school and back on her bike; she can drive, but it's too noisy. She locks her bike up and takes out the keys she stole a week ago- the custodian's backup set, he never noticed. She fishes the pliers out of her backpack, and goes to work.

00

“Annie,” she hisses. It's nearly six, she spent an hour at the school. Annie wakes up muzzily and scrubs at her eyes.  
“Beth? It's not school yet.”  
“You want an extra day of spring break?” Beth hisses.

Annie nods.   
“OK, then go to the bathroom. I turned the shower on really hot, give it five minutes and then turn it down and get in, and then we can use the hair dryer. Mom will think you're sick.”

“What about you?”  
Beth chuckles. “My school will be closed. You'll see.”  
00

Beth is calmly eating her cereal when her father gets the call. 

“Someone did what to the high school..wow? They can't even open the building?”

Beth smirks into her cereal. Her mother's fussing over Annie, who's prone to sudden fevers and fainting. Beth has carefully coached her baby sister, after all. A side effect of that is that Annie is dreadfully spoiled, but c'est la vie, right? 

She's glad she cleaned out her locker early. While losing a day of making money is annoying, getting caught with more tampons, hair ties, barrettes, deodorant and hairbrushes then one girl could ever use would be worse. She's been in business since middle school, and hasn't been caught. Even sneaking the stuff out of the store is terribly easy, nobody checks the loading docks. 

“Honey,” her dad begins, “I have bad news. Your school's closed for the day. Some vandals got in last night and they jammed all the locks.”

“Oh,” Beth says. “I hope they can fix it.”

“Not for a while. Would you look after Annie? I've gotta call her in sick.”

“No, that won't be a problem,” Beth says cheerfully. “We can watch movies together, and if it's warm enough, I can shoot today.”

Her dad hugs her. “How did I get such a good kid? Thank you.”

Beth smiles. She's good all right..at not getting caught.

Her mother echoes the same sentiments, and Annie finally comes down when both parents are gone.

“Ok, what did you do?” Annie asks. 

“Toothpicks in all the locks,” Beth replies, grinning. “I snapped them with the pliers about halfway down. Jams things up like you wouldn't believe. I've been working on it for days.”

“All right! High five!” 

They slap their hands together.

“So what are we going to do all day?”

“I've got some movies. I picked up the Bride Wore Black, some Hitchcock movies...and the Princess Bride and Robin Hood.”

“None of the movies you picked up are the blood-all-over-the-walls ones, right?” Annie asks suspiciously.

“The Bride wore Black is French, it's a classic,” Beth says defensively. She heard about that one on an internet forum she frequents, for fans of film noir. Her parents think she's a fan of the Maltese Falcon, when she really finds most of Bogart's movies too tame. 

At least they never found the tape of DeathRace 2050, or the many, many horror films she's been renting since she was thirteen. Or, for that matter, the Highsmith or Thompson or Himes novels. People might think her reading material is a little strange.

Annie makes a skeptical noise.

“And the Noose has no blood whatsoever,” Beth adds.

“Hah. Still gots dead people.”

“'Still has'..and ok, all of Hitchcock's movies have dead people. Or soon to be dead people, that was just his thing.”

At least she never let Annie see Psycho. That one made even her flinch.

“Can we see Sleepless in Seattle sometime?”

“I'll run over to the store and get it tomorrow. Although we'll have to wait til Sunday; I have a theater thing.”

The theater thing was an entirely unauthorized cinema in a warehouse near the docks. Beth's assignment was to bring the film reels that got dumped off near a laundry- she'd come up with the idea after reading about a cinema in the Paris catacombs and recruited a few forum members to help. None of them knew who the others were. They'd been busted once, but the police didn't really know what to do with them, so Beth got sent home with a note in her record. She assumed it was the same for the others.

00  
“I thought you said this was a classic,” Annie groans, hands over her eyes. 

“I did,” Beth agrees, munching her sandwich happily. “Oh, that was a good hit. Riight in the chest.”

“Beth, promise me? That you'll never kill anyone.”

“Sure.”  
“No, no. You have to say it.”

“All right, I promise not to kill anyone...unless they're hurting me, you or someone else I care about.”  
“That's weaseling,” Annie says.

“No, it's the truth. I have a right to protect myself and what's mine.”

“Am I yours?” Annie asks, snuggling in and laying her head on Beth's lap. Beth strokes her hair in reassurance. Sweet defenseless little Annie, she'd follow Beth right off a bridge.

“Yes, always and ever.”  
“I wish I could protect you, though.”  
“I don't need protection. Want to try shooting an arrow again?”  
“Yeah! Just.. we don't shoot at people, right?”

“That's right!” Beth agrees. For now, Beth again pushes back the darkness, doesn't allow herself to wonder if she could kill, face-to-face. Though part of her wonders, how bad could she be?


	2. House Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set twelve years before the series. How to be old.

He's been waiting for a half hour when someone finally walks in. She's humming something as she lets herself in, toes off her loafers and swings her backpack off. She eyes him, checking all the spots he could have a weapon. Despite being all of ten, and half his size, she doesn't seem threatened by him.   
There's no question of him being at the wrong address. There aren't many green-eyed black girls, and she's probably seen a fair amount of her dad's visitors come through. She checks the white scarf taped to one of his wrists and relaxes just a hair.  
“Thanks for not waiting outside,” she says. “Did you see a younger girl, 'bout seven, come in here?”  
“No, sorry.”  
“That girl, she can disappear faster than anything I ever saw. Well, welcome to the place. You're not Kings or MS-13, are you?”  
“No. I'm with an independent outfit,” he shrugs.

“Figured from the ink. Daddy won't have anything to do with MS 13. He says those boys be crazy. I won't ask your name, because we ain't on terms, but today you can call me Juniper. I also answer to 'Gin,' 'June,' 'June-bug,' and 'hey you,' depending on the day. First house rule, hand over the hardware.”

He blinks.  
“You're a lot younger than most people who come to this place. Means you're smart. That bit of business on your wrist means you didn't come to start anything, but you wouldn't rely on just that. Everyone who comes into this house parks their heat, or they walk out that door.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes, and hands the gun over. She kneels down and opens a safe- keeping her hand over it so he can't see which numbers she presses. There's an odd cry and a thump from the back yard.

“That would be..”

“Little sister,” she sighs, thumping the safe closed, and grabbing up her bag. “Follow me.”  
She leads him through the kitchen, swiping a towel as she goes and wetting it in the sink.  
“So, fridge. Help yourself to juice and whatnot, clean the cups as you go and stay out of the booze.”

“What about the food?” he asks.

“Cold cuts and cheese are ok, anything else you gotta ask about. We got granola bars, crackers, trail mix, bread and pretzels in the cupboards. The bathroom's on the other side of the house, and anything upstairs is off-limits.No one here's your maid, so you get what you want and clean up after yourself. If anyone in the family needs the kitchen, we need the kitchen. You either help or keep it moving.”

She pushes the back door open. There's a younger edition sprawled in the yard, blinking and swiping at her forehead which is bleeding. There's a jump rope tangled at her feet and she's sitting at the base of a trampoline. This one takes after her dad more than her mother- like most people around, her eyes are a deep brown and she's a little darker than her sister.

“Looks worse than it is,” 'Juniper' informs him, and swipes the towel over her sister's face. “Get the top pocket of my backpack open. I'll need the paintbrush, the little brown bottle and the band aids.”

He grabs the items and hands them over. He normally wouldn't take orders from a kid, but she knows what she's doing and he doesn't. The kid puts the paintbrush into the bottle, swipes it across the cut and then bandages it. The younger girl winces as the stuff goes on. Iodine, he guesses. He suspects they're both used to blood. 

“How many times have I told you,” she asks in fond exasperation. “You can jump rope, or you can jump on the trampoline, but you can't do both.”  
“I'm fine,” the younger girl grumbles. “Who's that?”

“Came to see Daddy,” she says.

“Hey man, you got a name?” the little one asks.  
“Cortes?”

They look at each other and roll their eyes. Juniper plunks down on the grass, and he sits down next to the back door, making sure not to block it.

“You said to give you a name, didn't say it had to be real. What's yours, small fry?”  
“Today it's Alice.”

So, it's going to be like that. He's definitely at the right house. Their old man is the master hook-up man. He knows all the shit that's going down. Runs a few tasty scams of his own, keeps tabs on all the big outfits and players in Chi. You want a crew? He can set you up. Wanna make sure the place you're hitting isn't actually a front? Ask him. Need a little history lesson on the care and feeding of vapor ware? He's got it covered.

His lady's no slouch either. Momma runs the longest-running real estate scam in the city, floats bad checks from time to time, and can forge the prettiest passport anyone ever saw. She's rumored to be a wicked good shot, and can swear in five languages.

No surprise that the little girls are quick-witted and cagey. He won't know their right names for weeks, months. Their folks have taught them well.

Most gang leaders, he knows, are dead by twenty, living til thirty is unheard of, unless they get caught. A life in a cage ain't no life at all. The old man's thirty-eight, ancient by street standards.Only been arrested once, for like, jaywalking, and the cops let him skate. To all appearances, he's a respectable notary public, and good fucking luck proving otherwise.

He's never thought about the future, mostly taking it for granted that it's set- live fast, die young, go out in a blaze of bullets. Maybe you leave behind a pack a' sons and daughters and baby mamas. It's a shit deal, and he wants something more out of life.

The older girl leads them back inside, and dials her dad's office.   
“Left early,” she says. “On his way home.”

He nods. They agreed on quarter to five; this guy isn't the sort you can cold-call. It took him the better part of a year to even find out the guy existed, but it was worth the work. 

He finds himself wanting this. Not being just another two-bit banger, but this. A guy who got things done so subtly, so invisibly the cops don't even know his name. With a partner and a pair of smart sassy kids. Those two are going places, even if they haven't gotten the map quite figured out.

“So, any questions?” Alice asks.  
“Just one. What do I gotta do to get one of those safes?”  
They laugh.   
“Well, you stick around, you find out,” Juniper chuckles.   
“I just might do that.”  
00

“What's your name, boy?” the old man asks.

“My friends call me Rio,” he answers.

“Why'd you come here?”

“I want to learn from the best, and word says that's you. Even hearing that word's a bit hard.”

“I prefer not to waste my time. That you even got here suggests you're worth talking to. What do you want to learn?”

Rio grins. “How to be old. I'm seventeen now, I'll be an old man in my twenties, if I live that long. And you know what, I figure I do. I want to be fuckin' ancient.”  
The old man smiles slowly. “Ok. Come by tomorrow with your second, and we'll start lessons. I can set you up with some guys I know for a fee, of course.”


	3. Do you love your fiancee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty years, preseries: Annie has concerns about the upcoming marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place twenty years ago, slightly before Beth and Dean's marriage. Trish is an original character, she and Annie were best friends as kids, drifted apart as adults.

Twenty years ago:

Annie and Trish, Annie's best friend, are whispering together again. Dean's waiting for Beth on the couch, trying to ignore the kids. Annie doesn't like him much, and Trish keeps teasing him by asking if he's some mob boss's nephew and how the queen shouldn't marry a jester. Finally, Trish heads upstairs, grumbling something about 'gonna take forever,' and Annie grins at him and plunks herself on the floor next to him. She's asked Trish to ask Beth about Ingrid Bergman, which is guaranteed to keep Beth occupied for a while.

“So, Ken. I think we need to talk.”

“You could try getting my name right.”

“Try not being made of plastic,” she retorts. “I mean, I've been wondering..what do you really know about Beth?”

“Uh, that Beth's the love of my life,” Dean says. Because she is. She's so bright and beautiful. She's like a fairy queen.

“Wrong answer, but nice try. I mean.. maybe I'm getting this wrong, but to love someone, you should know everything about them. Not just what they look like naked.”

“Hey!”

Annie grins. He shouldn't fall for her unexpected jabs, but he does. Every time. The grin quickly fades since this is serious. She doesn't like Dean, but she doesn't hate him. She just would prefer it if he were far away from Beth, ideally like, Australia or something. He seems like the sort of person who would be happy on a sheep farm, with a lumpy, dough-minded wife. 

He didn't know Beth from high school, or he'd be running in the opposite direction. It's not that Beth's not sweet and nice, but Annie'd bet dollars to donuts he doesn't know about the poker games Beth's running out of her dorm room. Or any of the things she did in high school, like the locker store, or the theater, or the blackmail, or all the times Beth has just vanished. 

Not to mention the fights. Unlike Trish, Beth prefers not to throw down in bare knuckle fights, but if it happens, Beth won't be the one crying. She gives no fucks and no quarter, which makes her a dangerous opponent.

And the number one mistake you can make with Beth- aside from threatening Annie- is giving her time to plan and stew. That's how her best friend in high school ended up facing a barrage of arrows. (Well that, and not staying away from Beth's boyfriend at the time. Boyfriend got a little roughed up too; his locker door fell on him. Someone had loosened the hinges on it.)

Beth will do anything for an adrenaline rush or to avenge a wrong. Sometimes Annie wishes Beth had safer hobbies, like skydiving or swimming with sharks. Dean's probably never asked why Trish calls her 'Queen Beth' or 'Hellcat.'

“Look, Beth's not an easy person to love and I think that maybe you haven't figured that out. She'll try to be what you want, because she thinks she loves you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think she's sweet, and probably really dumb too. But she's not either. And if you hurt her or lie to her, you're a dead man walking.”

“Are you threatening me?” Dean asks, amused.

Annie sighs. “No. I'm just saying that Beth will bury you if you ever hurt her. Trust me on this. I don't like you, much, but I'd like you to stay alive. You're not the sort of person Beth should marry, but-” she shrugs. “Nothing I can do.”

“What kind of man do you think Beth should marry?” Dean asks. Because, no really, he's sort of curious. 

“Al Capone,” Annie replies, as Trish clatters down the stairs with a large armful of videos, followed closely by Beth. 

“I hate you,” Trish grumbles to Annie. Annie, well acquainted with Beth's peculiar hobby horses, just grins. She knows Trish won't watch most of them. Probably a good thing.

“Sorry, am I late?” Beth asks. “Trish had some questions about movies.”

“Er, no, right on time- if we leave now. You don't want to miss Strangers on a Train, do you?”

“God no,” Beth grins, smiling brilliantly. “Don't wait up, you two!”

As soon as the door closes behind them, she asks, “What was that about?”

“Annie thinks you should marry a gangster.”

“Oh, that again. She really thinks I'm a criminal mastermind or something.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe. You might try seeing if I crack under interrogation,” she smiles. 

“I think maybe you should ease up on the mysteries. You've been reading way too many of those pulp novels.”

“There's no such thing,” she laughs.


	4. Gotta keep the balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby's not sure what to make of Annie's older sister. Nine years preseries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruby is hard to write. I hope I got her character sketched somewhat accurately. And hey, it's even seasonal. As always, comments appreciated.

“Morning,” Annie yawns. Ruby smiles and brings a cup of coffee over. Sadie's been dropped at daycare, she guesses. She's glad Stan's ok with staying home, though she worries that working nights will mess him up down the line.

“Something on your mind?” Annie asks as she pays for the coffee. She invariably leaves a tip, though Ruby feels a little guilty about it.

“Our anniversary's coming up,” Ruby says. “Stan's stepped up so much with Sarah this last year, I want to get him something special. But..” she shrugs. Money is always tight, and Stan doesn't really want much. Some new books, maybe a movie or some new shoes- but for an anniversary present that just won't do.

“I know,” Annie chirps. “Beth runs a photography studio out of her house. You should let her take pictures of you! Stan'll love it!”

“Like glamour shots?” Ruby asks, uncertainly. She likes Beth, but the woman makes her a little uneasy. She treats Annie like a wayward pet, rigs the neighborhood bridge tournament, and there's a guy eight years older than her who scuttles off like he's been scalded whenever he sees Beth. Beth said he got attacked by a mountain lion in her neighborhood when he was fourteen. Ruby thinks it wasn't the four-legged variety. Also, Beth apparently arranged for herself and her husband to be kidnapped on their honeymoon. (It was only for a few hours, but still.)

“Yeah, let's go with that,” Annie says, after a beat. “I'll get it set up with her. You're off tomorrow, right?”  
“Yeah. I'll call my sister-in-law after work, see if she can take Sarah for an hour or two.”

“Ok..oh, one thing, wear nice underwear. I mean really nice stuff. And bring a nice robe, too.”

00  
Ruby waits outside. She knows not to ring the doorbell- Beth has a six-month-old and an almost-two-year-old. Sarah's eight months old, and Ruby and Stan are grateful any time she closes her eyes. Beth opens the door, pressing a finger to her mouth.

“I've got all the equipment set up,” she whispers. “You can change in the studio; I've got all the blinds closed. So, nude or in your underwear? I charge extra for nudes.”

Ruby blinks. “Um..”

“Annie didn't tell you? I understood this was meant to be an anniversary present?”

“Er, I think I'll keep the underwear on,” Ruby says. “Though maybe..uh, like one nude.”  
“Great. I could turn them into a flipbook if you want.”

“Yeah, no. Someone actually wanted that?”

“Yup. I don't ask.”

Ruby arranges herself on the chaise longue and tries to look seductive. Beth circles around, snapping out occasional directions. 

“Put the robe on and go upstairs, I have an idea,” Beth smiles, when she's got some shots. “You can take everything off but the robe in the upstairs bathroom.”  
Ruby wraps the robe around herself and follows Beth upstairs. 

“I'll be a few minutes, have to check on the kids and then fuss with the lighting,” Beth whispers. 

Ruby nods. She checks out the bookshelf, notes a couple of interesting titles, and then strips down in the bathroom. 

“Could I borrow a couple of books?” she asks. It feels surreal, asking someone this question while sitting naked as the day she was born in their bedroom.

“Sure. Which ones?”

“'The Lady from Shanghai' and the 'Postman Always Rings Twice,” Ruby says. “I like romance stories.”

“Those are two of my favorites, so be careful,” Beth says. “And they aren't really love stories.”

A few quick clicks of the camera, and one of the kids starts wailing. Beth leaves Ruby to get her clothes together. 

“I'll develop the pictures tonight, and send the whole packet off tomorrow. Do you want the negatives?”

“Yes, please.”  
00  
Stan loves the photos, which Ruby finds gratifying. It's nice to know that even with Sarah, and even though she's not anywhere near model territory, that he treats those photos like a cross between fine art and a collection of Playboy centerfolds. She reads the books she got from Beth; about two chapters in, she realizes they aren't love stories. By the time she reaches the end, she thinks her eyebrows might be permanently fused to her hairline.

00  
A few months later, Beth loses the business. Ruby hears this from Annie, and also that Beth is furious about her business being zoned out of existence. The kids are old enough to be in daycare, but the daycare and the cost of renting the studio would keep her from making a profit, and Dean's a little concerned about sending the kids to daycare that young.

Ruby's at home one night when the phone rings. She grabs it before Sarah can wake up.

“Hello?”

“Ruby, you aren't far from City Hall, right?”

“Well, I can get there in about fifteen minutes. Why?”

“Do you remember Trish?”

“Oh, her,” Ruby says, after a second. Trish O' Rourke is Annie's childhood friend. She never grew out of the party-hearty phase. Ruby honestly tried to like the young woman. But Trish never met a button she didn't like to press, and Ruby comes out of every encounter vowing to drown that woman in Lake Huron.

“Well, she went out with a group to a bar downtown, the whole group's drunk, and she needs a ride home. Oh, and when you go to pick her up, leave the doors on your car open. It won't take more than a minute to find her.”

Beth hangs up. Ruby goes to find Sarah, who is making waking up noises over the monitor, bundles her up and puts her into the car seat.  
00  
“They had it coming, they had it coming, they only had themselves to blame..” Trish sings, dancing by herself in the street. Ruby sighs and shakes her head. Yep, Trish isn't hard to find, and at least she isn't fighting anything or anyone this time. (Annie had to pull her off a lamppost that Trish thought was looking at her funny, and one time she got into a fight with a statue.) 

She grabs Trish by the shoulders.

“Oh, hey,Mrs. Frisby.. come to dance?” Trish slurs.

“I'm just getting your sorry butt off the street,” Ruby replies, steering her toward the car, which she parked around the corner. Trish wobbles, and breathes fumes in Ruby's direction. Something seems a little off. It might just be that Trish's got an excellent sense of balance. She's logged hundreds of hours in dance training and in various groups, including the burlesque group she's in.

Ruby finally wrestles her into the passenger seat, frowning at the back. Were the shadows just a little deeper than they had been when she left the car? She sighs and locks the doors, including the backseat. Sarah's conked out again, and Ruby breathes a sigh of relief.

“Seatbelt,” she demands.

“Saaafety first,” Trish sing-songs, clicking the belt. “I can totally still fit in the wheelwell, you know.” 

“Yeah, no. Phee-ooww.. how many drinks did you have?”

“I had a beer, anna 'nother beer, anna a lot of Jean Nate.”

“You drank perfume?”

Trish rolls her eyes. “No, mother, I just sprayed it into my mouth. Tastes awful, but on the other hand, any breathalyzer is gonna tell you that I am stinking drunk. And I'm not. I just had to act drunker than I was.”

“Wait. You were wobbling drunk a second ago, you're saying I came all this way for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” a distorted voice, coming from the backseat says. A horrible thing rises from the backseat. Ruby shrieks, waking Sarah up, who starts screaming too.

“Oh, god. I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Beth says, tearing off the gas mask and unbuckling Sarah. “Shh, shhhh, don't cry.”

“Beth! What are you doing out here?”

“Annie told you about what happened with the studio.”

“Yes,” Ruby says, carefully. There's a tinny sound from the back seat as Beth repositions herself.

“Ok. Well, I tried writing letters, I phoned til I'm hoarse, I flooded their inboxes, so, I was making my feelings known in a more direct way.”

“I'm still waiting for the bit that explains the gas mask.”

“Well, the fumes wouldn't be good for the baby.”

“Fumes from what?”

“She tagged the shit out of city hall,” Trish says proudly.

Ruby groans and grinds her palm into her forehead. “Beth. Spray paint doesn't help any situation. Now I am going to take the pair of you home, and you are going to stay there and not cause any more trouble. And where do you even get a gas mask?”

“It was in the basement,” Beth says.  
“And before that?”  
“A family I babysat for owned it.”

“Beth, for god's sake. Why steal a gas mask?”

“Why not? Oh, by the way, would you be a dear and recycle the paint cans for me?”

Ruby sighs. The damage has been done, in any case, and she can drop the cans off after work.

'Let's move to Detroit, he says. The 'burbs will be safer, he says,' she thinks mutinously to herself. She should have packed up the family right then and there, but it might already have been too late.


End file.
